


In every drop of my blood

by nightfall_in_winter



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Worship, M/M, Melancholy, Pining, Separations, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 08:42:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14638230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfall_in_winter/pseuds/nightfall_in_winter
Summary: Pining, longing and extra hot memories of Crema. Sad and horny story. I am new to all of this and I suck at summaries, sorry. :)All feedback is appreciated. Thank you so much! <3





	In every drop of my blood

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [В каждой капле моей крови](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17463242) by [M_Vish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Vish/pseuds/M_Vish)



“Extinguish my eyes, I’ll go on seeing you.  
Seal my ears, I’ll go on hearing you.  
And without feet I can make my way to you,  
without a mouth I can swear your name.  
Break off my arms, I’ll take hold of you  
with my heart as with a hand.  
Stop my heart, and my brain will start to beat.  
And if you consume my brain with fire,  
I’ll feel you burn in every drop of my blood.”

Rainer Maria Rilke

Where did it all go? 

Armie closes his eyes and swallows painfully. He can still see him – skinny legs, glistening torso and emerald eyes with a hint of gold glitter. His delicate Adam’s apple jumping under his hearty laugh and his dark hair tickling Armie’s stubble whenever he squeezed the air out of him in a tight embrace. Fragile, adored, exquisite, loved to infinity and beyond. He is there, inhabiting the innermost part of Hammer’s mind and he is big, palpable and real. Armie exhales and a barely visible dew drop escapes the corner of his eye.

Where did it all go?

Visions, feelings, moving evocations of youth, love and true happiness wash over him. The pastures outside Crema, the river, the beautiful rose-coloured peonies on Timmy’s cheeks, his little heart beating so fast under his erect nipple. "Touch me, Armie!" He can still taste his hot and fruity tongue, so sweet and exhilarating as it explored insistently Armie’s mouth. Timmy’s shaking fingers on his velvety balls, pulling the silky, golden pubic hair and scratching the soft skin gently.

Where did it all go?

Armie palms his erection as he pictures the beautiful arches of his smooth warm feet around his twitching cock. Timmy’s tiny toes spasming in his mouth as he shoots milky cum over his flat belly; tongue circling around each fine toenail as they stared intently at each other, body to body, soul to soul. The distinctive, unique, musky, precious taste of his post-orgasmic ass juice that tickled Armie’s palate so greatly. To this day, nothing has ever tasted sweeter or more desirable. If he could, he would have bottled it – the cherished phial of his passion, his powerful love potion, his living water that brings the dead to life.

Where did it all go?

Harper came this morning on her way to University, one of the very few people who still remembered (somewhat infrequently) that he was still alive. She looked around with pity in her eyes – the grubby flat, the empty wine bottles beside the bed, the big pile of unwashed clothes, her dad’s long salt and pepper beard and his sorrowful look. How did it come to this, dad? You were on top of the world once, you were happy. We were happy. She sighed and looked at the newspaper lying on top of the small dirty table. “Timothee Chalamet won his 4th Oscar just a few months after his 37th birthday. He was joined on stage by his beloved wife and two sons…”

Ah, Chalamet again. Him. Always him! 

She stays around only a few minutes longer. Armie feels her impatient urge to leave, to escape his poisoned, lost-it-all, loveless world. Who could blame her, he thought, and an embittered smile crawled over his lips. He lies on the bed in silence, a soft moan escaping his lips only when he rolls over and reaches under the pillow to grab it - a wrinkled, red hoodie, small, almost child size. Trembling arms hug it with a mighty force that threatens to break Armie’s own shoulder bones and he rubs his teary face in the old fabric in a desperate search of him – the scent of his soft black hair, camomile soap, wet shorts, salty semen…

Where did it all go? Did I dream it? 

The lonely man tastes saliva and Nutella on Timmy’s fingers, sweat on his upper lip, hairs tender as candyfloss below his belly button. Armie rubs himself hard and there is a desperate, shaky rhythm overtaking his entire body as he calls for him before collapsing in his own seed. Convulsing, sobbing, spent. He can almost touch Timmy - shamelessly young, open, spread naked, shivering, licking sperm from his firm thigh, tasting lust for the first time. Always eager, always giving, always ready for Armie, always his, always 20.

But all that remains is dreammaking and a strange remembrance…

Now translated in Russian by M_Vish here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17463242

**Author's Note:**

> I am @holdmygazeoliver on tumblr.


End file.
